Paybacks
by Halfspell
Summary: Remember that loan, way back when? Justin starts paying it back.


Another check had arrived in the mail.

He had a nice, neat stack of the things, now. Five pale blue little slips of paper with neat copperplate script and angular writing, along with an ugly signature. Five checks. Five. In three months he had gotten five checks. The question remaining was why the hell was Justin sending him checks?

He had meant to ask, really, but there were always more important things to discuss when Justin called (what're you wearing, was he hot, Ted sucks, cabs suck, Pittsburgh sucks, New York doesn't suck, I miss you) so the question had a tendancy to slip through the cracks. Justin hadn't visited since the checks started showing up, so Brian couldn't ask him face to face, either. No notes, no explinations, just ... checks.

Brian found himself arranging them, lining the checks up all in a row, on top of his desk. By chronological order. One two three four five. How long he sat and stared at the checks, he didn't know, but when the phone jarred him out of his reverie the light in the room had already changed. It must have been a while. "Kinney," he answered the phone absently, eyes glancing towards the clock.

"What're you wearing?"

"Checks."

"..you're wearing checks?" Brian could hear the warm puzzlement in Justin's voice and he suppressed a smile.

"No, I have checks. Five of them."

"Oh! Yeah, I noticed you haven't cashed them yet. Waiting for the whole lump sum?"

"Justin, why are you sending me checks?" There were more coming? He was missing something, he could feel it.

"When you didn't mention the first one I sent, I thought you figured it out. It's me paying back my student loans."

"...Oh." He wasn't sure what to say to that entirely. It never occurred to him that Justin would actually pay him back.

"You forgot about it, didn't you."

"No." Yes.

"Brian." And Justin knew him far too well. It was depressing.

"Christ! So I forgot. Can you blame me? Shit! And what the fuck am I going to do with your money? I can't even figure out what to spend mine on!"

"A deal's a deal, Brian." Justin had to remind him. Brian had to roll his eyes. "Don't make that face, either."

"I'm not making a face." Right.

"You're making the Justin's lost his mind again face. You make that face a lot."

"You lose your mind a lot." Brian had to point that much out and had to join in when Justin started to laugh quietly. "Still," he continued when the laughter died down. "What the fuck am I going to do with your money?"

"I'm sure you'll put it to good use."

Not too long later, they hung up and Brian was left with the words "good use" rolling around in his head. Well ... why the hell not?

A week later his phone was ringing again.

"Sweatpants and nothing else."

Justin's warm laugh wound through the phone lines and washed over him like tropic sea water. Brian smiled. "Well, hello to you too," Justin replied.

"I figured I'd answer the important question first. What're you wearing?"

"A towel. I just got out of the shower. But I wanted to talk to you about something. Don't distract me."

"Okay, fire away."

"There was a cleaning lady here this week."

"This is what you wanted to talk to me about? Must be nice to have a clean place for once." He could play innocent with the best of them, so long as Justin wasn't looking at his face.

"She did my laundry too. All of it."

"Well, you are a slob. I've been telling you that for years."

"And, on top of it, I've been getting all this take out that I didn't order. It's all in my name, though."

"Yeah? Like what, a pizza? Donuts?"

"More like steak. Lasagna. Homemade cookies. That sort of shit. Know anything about it?"

"No." Yes. "Why would I know anything about that?"

"Brian." Shit.

"It's my money, goddammit, you even said so yourself. And that's my good use. So shut the fuck up and suck it up, Sunshine."

"You're impossible." There was a warm smile in his voice, though. The kind that warmed Brian to the core of his bones.

"If you mean impossibly amazing, I know."

"Listen, Brian -- "

"Justin," he interrupted. "If you honestly have the balls to tell me that taking care of you isn't a good use for my windwall, go on and tell me so, but I don't buy it." That sentance was carefully calculated to make the artist on the other end of the line turn into a warm puddle of goo. Even better, it was true.

"It's not a good use." Justin's voice was small, though, and warm and humble sounding.

"Too fucking bad."

"...I love you."

"Yeah. Me too. Whatever. So ... really just a towel?"

"No." It was amazing just how fast Justin's voice could go from hushed and humble to sleek and sultry.

"No? No towel? What then?"

"Nothing."

"Mmm ... For me?"

"Oh yeah. All for you."


End file.
